


Hotel California Part 8: Meanwhile, back in Cascade...

by carolroi (CarolROI)



Series: Hotel California [10]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolROI/pseuds/carolroi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After TSbyBS, Jim and Megan take a trip to St. Sebastian's to visit Blair and find plenty to worry about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotel California Part 8: Meanwhile, back in Cascade...

Jim looked up at the flight of stairs before him, leaning heavily on the cane he'd been forced to use since getting shot, and let out a sigh. 

"Only one more flight, mate. Lean on my shoulder if you need the support." 

Shrugging off the feelings of frustration, he nodded and started up the steps, taking his friend up on her offer and leaning on her for balance while using the cane for weight bearing. The going was slow, but finally he attained his goal--home. 

He watched his partner and friend as she dug up the keys to his home, hers, too, for a while, from her arm sling and unlocked the door. Long red hair flipped over her shoulder as she looked at him. "Come on, just a few more steps and then you can crash, Jimbo." 

Pushing off the wall, he felt his thigh twinge in pain and resigned himself to using the cane once more as he limped into his apartment. Brushing past her, he muttered. "Is it just me or was this past week worse than normal, Connor?" 

"Just about the same." Megan shut the door and hovered behind him as he hobbled over to the couch and collapsed into the soft cushions. She helped him balance his wounded leg on the coffee table, then handed him the remote control for the television. "You just don't like riding a desk. Neither do I, but until we're cleared by the docs and the understudies to the Marquis DeSade..." Jim chuckled at her rather blase' description of physical therapists "... we're both stuck doing consultations on current cases and plowing through old files to see if we can pick up possible leads." 

Quirking a smile at her, Jim nodded. "After today's session with the torturers, I'm starting to wonder if I'm ever going to get out from behind my desk." He gestured toward her, noticing how she was slipping out of her sling. "At least you'll be back on the streets before I will. Looks like you're making good progress there, Connor." 

"Only because you and Captain Banks ganged up on me with the idea of my coming to stay with you for a while." She let out a small laugh. "Of course, Banks couched it in terms that made me think I was going to be taking care of you, not the other way around." 

Jim shrugged. "If you'd been taking your meds like you were supposed to..." He let out a sigh. "Besides, I had an extra room available." 

"He still hasn't called, has he?" 

"No." 

"Are you sure?" He followed her pointing finger to the light flashing on the answering machine. Blair had promised to call at least once a week, on the weekends, while he was away at St. Sebastian's on retreat. That had been nearly three weeks ago, and no phone calls had come. Jim started rise, but Megan stopped him by firmly placing her hand on his chest. "Stay put, I'll get it." 

She moved to the end of the couch, hitting the playback button as she walked past it. 

"I've got to go to the loo. While I'm gone, why don't you think about what you want for dinner?" 

"Anything will do, as long as it's not your cooking, Connor." He ducked the sling as it flew through the air to land on his shoulder. "Just kidding! Geesh!" 

"Funny, Jimbo." Megan disappeared down the hall as the messages started to play back on the machine. 

_Friday, Nine-oh-Eight AM_

_"Mr. Ellison, this is Rene Zarbinski from Cascade General. I'm just calling to remind you of your physical therapy appointment this afternoon. If you need to reschedule again, please contact me as soon as possible at 555-0200 extension 3205."_

Jim shook his head. Rene was one of the better physical therapists at Cas-Gen but the man couldn't seem to understand that sometimes a patient had to reschedule appointments. But you've done it more often than not, Jim, and Rene's about ready to pull his hair out over you. His thoughts stopped as the next message began to play. 

_Friday, Five-Ten PM_

_"Drat, I seem to have missed you, Jim. This is Naomi, I got your message but I haven't heard from Blair since I left Cascade. Is everything okay? I understood he'd planned on going to see Brothers Marcus and Jeremy. You know how Jeremy can be about phone calls. Or maybe Blair just hasn't had time to call you. Anyway, I'm at the Mount Baker Naturalist Retreat if you need to contact me."_

The tape deck started to rewind after the message played, and Jim once again shook his head. Naomi hadn't left a number where she could be reached, and she hadn't sounded all that amused by his attempts to track down her son. Just as Jim wasn't amused by Sandburg breaking his promise to call. He'd thought the dissertation fiasco would have taught Blair to be more responsible, but it appeared old habits died hard. 

"Any news from Sandy?" Megan's voice grabbed his attention and Jim looked over his shoulder at her. 

"Nothing. Naomi called; she doesn't seem to know where he is either. Suggested that maybe he had trouble getting past Brother Jeremy's edict about phone calls and modern gadgets." A smirk crossed his face as Jim recalled his own run-in with the good brother's viewpoint on guns, cell phones and even radios. 

"Sandy told me about that trip he conned you into taking up there. Think his mother might be right? That he's up there, putting his head together like he said he wanted to, and just hasn't thought about calling you?" 

"Maybe." A plan slowly started to form in his mind, one that would require assistance to fulfill. "You're not on call this weekend, are you, Connor?" 

"Nope. Just like you're not. Why?" 

"How would you like to see St. Sebastian's?" 

* * *

The drive up to Saint Sebastian's wasn't exactly the relaxing jaunt he'd hoped it would be, not with Connor insisting that she drive. Trying to relax against the passenger side door, Jim reflected that it wasn't like Megan was a bad driver, she wasn't. Not really. And it had been months since she lapsed and started driving on the wrong side of the road during an investigation. It was just that he hated not being in control. _There, I admitted it, even if only to myself. I'm a control freak. At least some of what Sandburg's been trying to tell me over the years has sunk in._

"You okay, Jim?" 

His attention was pulled from the passing countryside to Megan. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" 

A smile crossed the woman's face. "I realize that you're not the chatty type, but nearly an hour of total silence is about to goad me around the bend." 

"Sorry." Jim straightened up in his seat, the _passenger_ seat of his own damn truck, and glanced up the road to see what he hoped would be a good idea. "Hey, there's a roadside diner up ahead. Wanna stop?" 

"You hungry, Jimbo?" 

"Yeah, I think I am." To emphasize his point, he pulled a brown plastic bottle out of his jacket pocket. "Besides, we're both due for our next round of antibiotics and you know how your tummy doesn't like it if you don't feed it before taking yours." 

Her long-fingered, elegant-yet-strong hands tightened on the wheel. "I wish you would forget that incident." His gaze went from Connor's hands to her face, in time to see her blush ever so slightly. "I didn't know I would react that way to the medication and I sure as hell didn't mean to wake you up with it." 

He reached his arm across the back of the bench seat to lightly touch her shoulder. "Connor--Megan, it was no big deal, okay? Wasn't the first time I've taken care of a sick coworker or roommate and I'm sure it won't be the last." 

She didn't speak as she pulled off the road into the parking lot of the diner Jim had spotted and parked in a vacant spot. It wasn't until she had shut down the engine that she answered, "It was embarrassing." 

He gave her a light punch on the shoulder before he opened the door and climbed out of the cab. "No one has ever died of embarrassment, Connor. But people have been known to die of starvation, let's go." 

* * *

The double bacon cheese burger and fries were not settling well in his stomach when Jim pointed out to Connor the field where the bus from St. Sebastian's was to pick them up. Megan pulled off the road, parking the truck in the pasture, then looked around the surrounding area, doubt and confusion flitting across her face. 

"You sure this is the place, Jimbo?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure." Pushing open the passenger side door after rolling his window down, he stretched his long legs out of the cab, then propped his still healing, quietly throbbing leg on the door by placing his booted foot out the window. "The brothers only run the bus into town on certain days, mostly for groceries but also to pick up guests and they always park here then walk the rest of the way to the store." 

"And this is one of the days they do their runs?" 

Pulling his Jags cap lower on his head, blocking off the early afternoon sun, he tried to relax and ignore the pain pulsing up from his thigh into his hip and lower back. "Yes, and we'll have to beg their indulgence to drive us back here once we're done talking to Brothers Jeremy and Marcus." 

He felt her shifting in the driver's seat. "Why's that? I thought St. Sebastian's helped maintain their coffers by providing room and board for seekers of spiritual peace. You worried that they won't have room for us?" 

A half smile, half smirk pulled at his lips before Jim answered. "Oh, they'll have rooms, probably, but not for you, Connor." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah... Monastery rules and regulations. No female guests on the grounds after eight pm or sundown, which ever comes first." 

"That bites! Oh no, that means I'll have to drive this ... truck ... of yours back into Cascade tonight then make arrangements to come pick you up in the morning." 

Even though he wasn't looking at her, Jim didn't miss the hesitation in her voice when Megan nearly called his beloved sweetheart something nearly derogatory. He chose to ignore the nonverbal remark and reached inside his mind to find the damn pain dial Blair had helped him to build, trying to lower the level of intense aching throbbing through his body. Light pressure on his shoulder pulled his attention back to the here and now. 

"Jim? You okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"Roo-shit. You're as pale as a ghost. You need help with the dials?" The pressure on his shoulder shifted downward until her hand rested on his forearm. "Okay, you know the routine. Deep breath in, let it out slowly, form the image of the dial in your mind's eye and slowly crank it down to a more manageable level." He followed her advice, listening to her soothing voice as she guided his efforts until he had regained control over the pain and let out an involuntary sigh of relief. "Better now, Jim?" 

Pushing his cap back off his forehead, he smiled at her and nodded his appreciation. "Thanks, Connor." Something caught his attention, and he looked over her shoulder to the west to see the bus approaching the field. "Ride's here." 

She turned around to see what he was talking about. "Bugger. We're supposed to ride in that? It looks like it's about to fall apart." 

Lowering his leg, Jim climbed out of the truck, pausing only to grab his cane from behind the seat before slamming the door shut and hobbling around the backend of the truck to stand next to his friend. "It's sturdier than it looks, Megan. The brothers are pretty resourceful and have skills outside their monkish realm that might just surprise you." The bus slowed down and rumbled to a halt on the road when Jim waved at driver. 

"I'm surprised already -- it's still running." Megan flashed a smile at him when he turned to stare at her. "Kidding." 

The door of the bus creaked open and the man driving the machine stepped out to greet them. "Detective Ellison, a pleasure to see you again." The middle-aged man reached out to shake Jim's hand before turning to face Connor, "And who is this lovely angel, sent from Heaven itself, who wishes to grace St. Sebastian's for the afternoon?" 

"Brother Theodore, may I present Inspector Megan Connor?" Jim was happy to see a halfway familiar face for he'd worried that the driver would be a brother he didn't know and he would have to explain to him that the reason behind his visit was purely personal and not police related. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Brother Theodore. Jim and Sandy have told me all about St. Sebastian's and I'll admit, I'm curious and anxious to see it." Megan was on her best behavior as she shook the man's offered hand. 

"Ah! An angel from down under!" Brother Theodore shook her hand vigorously before gesturing to the bus. "Well, since you are the only ones waiting for a ride and we don't need supplies this weekend, let's get on the road, shall we?" 

* * *

Megan stared out the bus window at the passing scenery, keeping one ear tuned to Jim's conversation with Brother Theodore, but not really paying all that much attention to it. It was pretty isolated out here; they'd only passed a couple of houses on the road they were traveling, and she imagined it was probably very peaceful at the monastery. _And god knows peace has been sorely lacking in Sandy's life, in all our lives, for a long time._

She glanced at Jim, wondering why he hadn't said anything to their driver about the reason for their visit. In fact, he hadn't mentioned Blair's name at all to Brother Theodore. Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she asked herself again why she'd even agreed to take this trip with Jim. Part of it had been because she was just a teensy bit concerned about Blair's being incommunicado, but she'd done it mostly just to get Jim out of the house. After all the crap with the reporters when Blair's dissertation had been leaked, Jim had become kind of skittish about going anyplace unfamiliar, afraid of being ambushed by the press and possibly zoning. Work and home, home and work had become his routine. He even avoided trips to the PT's office like the plague, though she could understand that. Just the thought of therapy made her shoulder twinge, and she rubbed it absentmindedly. 

She could understand on some level what Jim was going through; she knew from working cases with him that he had control issues. The sentinel thing, the feeling that he wasn't in control of his own body probably frustrated him no end. 

Determined to get the good oil on the sentinel, she'd sat Sandy down in a bar one night and drank him under the table. It had taken that much alcohol to get Sandburg to spill even the smallest kernel of information on sentinels, and his relationship with Jim in particular. But once he'd starting talking, he'd been a fountain of knowledge. He'd even acted out the bit about shoving Jim under a garbage truck to keep him from becoming road kill when he'd zoned the first time they'd met, making the dangers of being a sentinel quite real to her. Still, Sandy had said Jim was fine now, hardly ever slipping up anymore, and the business in the truck earlier with the pain dial had just been her coaching Jim through something he knew by heart, something anyone one else would have just taken a pain pill for and forgotten about. 

"Just a few more miles," Brother Theodore said loud enough for Megan as well as Jim to hear. "You'll be able to see the monastery on top of the hill." 

A short time later, the monastery came into view. It was a simple place, a white clapboard building that did nothing to disguise the fact that it was a place of worship, from the double doors leading into what Megan assumed was the chapel, to the bell tower rising above the grounds, offering what she was certain would be a majestic view of the wooded mountains. 

Brother Theodore brought the bus to a stop in the crushed gravel drive and they disembarked, Megan first, offering a hand to Jim to help him down the narrow steps, which he ignored, choosing instead to lean on his cane. Sighing, she shrugged off the slight and turned her attention to a closer examination of the grounds. They were neat and well-tended, a picket fence setting off what looked like a large garden, freshly tilled in preparation for the spring planting. 

A tall man with thinning gray hair, dressed in the same simple dark cassock as Brother Theodore, exited the building, stopping on the stairs for a moment as he caught sight of them. Emotion briefly flickered across his face before he schooled it into neutrality. He came toward them, his hand outstretched toward Jim, using it to pull the detective into an embrace. "Brother Jim! Such a surprise to see you here again--after your last visit, I thought you might choose a quieter location for a vacation, say, a three ring circus." Stepping back, he gave Jim a smile, but Megan noted it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"Brother Jeremy, good to see you again," Jim responded, then drew Megan forward with a gesture. "This is my friend and colleague, Inspector Megan Connor." 

"Pleased to meet you, Brother Jeremy," she said politely, taking the hand he offered her. 

"Two police officers. I hope you're not here on official business, Detectives. I can assure you we are not harboring any assassins this time." He laughed, but it sounded forced, and Megan felt the prickle of hair rising on the back of her neck. Something was definitely off here. 

"No, no, not here on police business, or a vacation." Jim took a deep breath, then said, "We're here about Blair. He told us he was coming up here to...to rest, to meditate, but he assured us he'd call." 

Megan chimed in then. "But we haven't heard from him in a couple weeks, and we were getting a bit worried. Probably quite silly of us, but well, cops, you know, we immediately think the worst." 

Brother Jeremy looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment. "I'm sorry to have to tell you your trip to St. Sebastian's has been in vain. Brother Blair left here well over a week ago." 

* * *

_That bastard!_ The red-hot flash of anger flared inside Jim, and it was all he could do to keep from cursing Sandburg's name out loud. _This is just like him, just like him. Never considering the feelings of others, never considering my feelings, that I might care where he goes or what he does...or that I thought we had an agreement..."Detach with love" my ass!_ He clenched his fingers around the handle of his cane, feeling the muscle twitching in his jaw. Then he said calmly, if somewhat tightly, "Did he leave any forwarding address, Brother Jeremy, any way that we could get in touch with him?" 

Jeremy shook his head solemnly. "I'm sorry but no. Brother Blair was restless when he arrived, and even more so when he left. He did not find the tranquillity he sought here." 

Megan spoke up then, "He didn't say where he was going? Back to Cascade? Or to visit his mother perhaps?" 

"I'm afraid not, or at least not to me. Please, stay for dinner. It's the least we can do for you, since you've traveled so far for nothing." 

Jim bit back a fresh surge of ire. He didn't want to stay here one second longer than he had to. There was no point, now that Sandburg was gone. "No thanks, Brother," Jim began, "if Blair's not here, we should head back--" 

Connor interrupted him. "We'd love to stay, Brother Jeremy. I find this whole place fascinating. Is it possible I could get a tour, meet the other monks?" She smiled brightly at him, then turned her gaze on Jim. "Detective Ellison's leg is bothering him after the long drive up here. Perhaps there's somewhere he could rest?" 

"Of course." Turning, Jeremy headed toward the building. 

Jim and Megan followed at a slower pace. "What in the hell was that about, Connor?" he hissed under his breath. 

"You check out the monastery and I'll talk to the monks. Or don't you think we should dig a little deeper before just blindly accepting that Sandy's cut us loose?" 

He had to agree she had a point. He shouldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. He should act like the detective he was and find out all the facts before he jumped to the conclusion that Blair was leaving for good. It could just be as simple as Jeremy said, that Blair hadn't found whatever he was looking for at St. Sebastian's. Jim could be getting a postcard from Tibet any day now, saying Sandburg was just fine but would be gone a little longer than he'd planned. "All right. Go chat up the monks. I'll take a look at Sandburg's room." 

After asking Jeremy where Blair had stayed, Jim limped off in that direction, leaving the other two behind. He could hear Megan asking the monk something about growing their own food as he turned down the hallway leading to the cells. 

They were just as he remembered them, small, spartan rooms, two cots each, a carved crucifix hanging over each bed. Despite their size, though, the cells were comfortable. Rich wood paneling covered the walls and a small, stained glass window was set in the top half of the door. A desk stood opposite the door, up against the large windows facing the gardens. The whole effect gave a person the illusion that one side of the room was open to the outdoors. 

Pulling out the desk chair, Jim settled into it with a sigh, opening the drawer and going through the contents. He hadn't expected to find anything there, and he didn't. Swinging around in his seat, he gave the room a once over with his vision. He had to say one thing for the brothers, they really took cleanliness being next to godliness to heart. There wasn't a speck of dust visible, and even from the chair he could see that the sheets had been changed since Blair had slept on them, the sharp creases where they folded around the mattress giving it away. Sandburg couldn't make a military corner to save his life. 

Closing his eyes, Jim inhaled slowly, filtering through various scents in the room. Discarding the heavy fragrance of turned earth coming through the open window from the garden, he delved deeper, finding underneath the sharp tang of cleaning products a faint trace of Blair clinging to the pillow, the mattress. It wasn't the normal, slightly spicy scent overlaid with the aroma of Sandburg's caffeine habit that Jim usually associated with a Blair at peace. The odor was sharp and sour at the same time, the stink of sweat and nerves and fear. Jim could almost see his friend tossing and turning on the small bed, the sheets tangling round him as he sought the solace of sleep. 

Ellison rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, thinking back to the last time he'd seen Blair, the morning after Simon had offered him a position with the PD. Jim had come downstairs at seven AM to find his roommate packing a duffel bag. Sandburg hadn't looked guilty at all, in fact just the opposite. He seemed glad to see Jim, happy to tell him he was going off for a few weeks, to "get my head together," as he'd put it. Jim hadn't suspected anything then, hadn't felt even a hint of unease, or a whisper of the possibility that Blair was planning to disappear. He'd just thought Blair wanted time to himself to readjust, to prepare himself for becoming a cop. 

Had it all been a lie? Was this Blair's plan all along, spend a few days at the monastery in case Jim checked up on him, then split for parts unknown? He got to his feet, his cane catching on the leg of the chair. With a growl, he flung the hated stick away from him, listening to the clatter it made as it struck the doorjamb. _Damn him. Damn him to hell._ Ellison needed a partner he could trust, and Sandburg was proving once again he wasn't it. 

* * *

Crossing the wide expanse of neatly trimmed lawn behind the monk's living quarters, Megan idly wondered what they were called. Dormitories? Cloisters? She thought the individual rooms might be called cells...which drew an unpleasant comparison between the religious life and prison. Had Sandy felt trapped here? Is that why he'd left? Or perhaps the question should be: had he felt trapped into becoming a cop? 

Because that's what that day in the bullpen had been--an ambush. What could Sandy have said other than what he had, with everyone clamoring for his response? There'd been no quiet heart-to-heart between Sandy and Jim, no discreet offer from Captain Banks, but a very public pronouncement that this is what they'd planned for him. It would have taken a very strong person to say no in that situation, and with everything he'd been through in the preceding days, perhaps Sandy hadn't had that kind of strength. 

Well, that was what she was here to find out, wasn't it? Sandy's state of mind, and where he might have headed from here. Most of the monks Megan had already spoken with didn't have much to give her, other than she should really be talking to Brother Marcus. 

Reaching the building housing the monks' stained glass workshop, she stepped through the open doorway and paused, taking a look around. Incomplete windows were everywhere, stacked against the walls, hanging from hooks on the ceiling; a work bench held spools of solder and various cutting and welding tools. In the midst of the chaos, a stout man with curly white hair and a scraggly beard was bent over a table, carefully drawing some kind of cutting implement over a piece of glass. He examined the score mark through the half-moon glasses perched precariously on his nose, then picked up the glass and snapped it along the line. Fitting it into place in the window he was working on, he reached for the solder. 

Megan chose that moment to rap on the doorjamb. He looked up at her, blinking in surprise. "Brother Marcus?" she asked. 

He pursed his lips and hesitated before answering. "Yes, I'm Brother Marcus. How can I help you, Miss...?" 

"Connor, Megan Connor." 

She would have continued, but Marcus nodded gravely and said, "Brother Blair's friend, yes?" 

"Yes, Blair Sandburg's friend. I'm worried about him, that's why I'm here." Spying a stool next to the workbench, she crossed the room to it and sat down. "Brother Jeremy said he was staying with you up until a few days ago, then he left without saying where he was going. Do you have any idea where he could have gone?" 

Polishing a bit of glass with a rag, Marcus took a long time to consider his response. Finally he said, "All he told me was he was going to see a friend. Didn't say who, didn't say where, just that he thought this friend could help him." 

Frustrated, Megan pushed her hair back behind her ear. This man knew something, she could feel it, but he didn't trust her, and she didn't know how to change that. "Look, Brother Marcus, Sandy's a friend, a good friend. He's saved my life more than once. I owe him. So if he's in trouble, if he's running from something, I want to try and help him." 

"That's admirable, but what if he doesn't want your assistance? What will you do then?" 

"I..." Megan hesitated, back to that question of why, exactly, was she here. "I guess I would let him be, then. But I'm not sure I can just take your word for it, your assurance that he doesn't want my help, not without knowing more about why he came here, what he was hoping to find." 

Marcus nodded then, as if he agreed with her assessment of him and of Blair. Pulling up a chair next to hers, he sat, crossing his arms over his worn leather apron. "Very well then, I'll tell you what I know, and what I observed." 

"Thank you, Brother," Megan responded, then shut up to listen. 

"The first clue I had that something was truly wrong with Blair was his silence. You know the boy, he can barely be quiet long enough to eat. Yet when he arrived, he took a vow of silence, one that was the direct opposite of the one we monks take every day. From sunrise to sunset for the first few days he was here, he said nothing to any of us, just did his chores, and spent long hours walking the woods and meditating. 

"On the third day, he came to me and told me what I believe to be the bare bones of what happened. That something he had done had caused a problem, and that you, and Detective Ellison, and a Captain Banks, were hurt because of it. Whatever this thing was, it troubled him greatly. I shared a cell with him, and listened to him struggle with it every night. I tried to help him by assuring him that whatever it was he had done, God loved him and forgave him for it. 

"A few days before he left, Blair told me that it didn't matter that God forgave him, because he couldn't forgive himself." 

Megan felt her stomach clench. "You don't think--you don't think Sandy had any intentions of harming himself, do you?" 

Marcus seemed to consider that for a moment, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Dropping his gaze back to her, he answered, "No, that wasn't the impression I got. I think when he told me he was going to visit a friend, that's exactly what he meant. In fact, I think that's where he intended to go all along, whether he knew it consciously or not. He never unpacked his bag completely, and that wasn't like him. He always put his things out when he stayed with us, spread his books and his journals all over his cell." Marcus smiled. "Brother Blair is not known for his neatness." 

Megan couldn't help but smile back. "No, he's not. Thank you so much for your help, Brother Marcus." 

Marcus got to his feet with a grunt. "Well, I'm not so sure I helped you in locating Blair at all." 

"Perhaps not, but it's good to know that he had a friend he could confide in here, and that somewhere out there is someone else he feels can help him, even if it's not his friends in Cascade." Megan shook the monk's hand and let him go back to his work. 

* * *

By the time they'd taken the monks up on their offer of dinner and ridden back to the field in the middle of nowhere in the old bus, it was late, and Megan could barely keep her eyes open, let alone manage the Ford's tight clutch. "Look, Jimbo," she told him as they rolled through the small town closest to the monastery, "I try to get us back to Cascade tonight, we're liable to end up splattered all down the mountainside. I saw a motel on the west side of town. What do you say we stop for the night and head home in the morning?" 

"Sure, whatever," he mumbled from the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the scenery flying by, a picture of misery, all traces of the somewhat jovial man he'd appeared on the drive up gone. 

She let out a long sigh, wondering for the umpteenth time how Sandy had put up with Jim for nearly four years. The man could be downright moody when he wanted, though he did a good job of acting affronted when called on it. "A lifetime of therapy would do wonders for him", she thought uncharitably, then silently chastised herself. _Try looking at it from his perspective, Meg. His best friend betrayed him once, albeit through carelessness, and now it appears he's done it a second time deliberately by running off the way he's done. Jim's probably feeling pretty abandoned right now._

"We'll find him, Jim," she vowed, reaching over to squeeze his forearm for a moment. "We're cops. It's what we do. He can't hide from us forever, you know. First thing Monday we can run a credit check. That'll at least tell us whether he's cleaned out his bank account." 

Shrugging, Jim replied, "Yeah, sure," in a tone that indicated he thought nothing would come of it. 

"Right," she answered, then allowed the stifling silence to settle over them again. Maybe she should try and make it back to Cascade tonight. The idea of spending the night in a motel with Jim was appearing less attractive by the moment. 

"Stop the car!" 

Jim's near shout startled Megan so much she slammed on the brakes, throwing both of them against the restraint of their seatbelts. "Bloody hell, Ellison!" she snapped as she peered into the darkness, seeing nothing that warranted his outburst; the street was deserted. 

"Back up," he ordered with a low growl. 

Grinding her teeth, she did as she was told, finally halting next to the curb in front of a tiny used car lot. Jim was out of the truck before she'd come to a full stop, hobbling across the broken tarmac to a familiar dark green vehicle. 

"Sandy's Volvo!" Megan exclaimed under her breath. The old car was sitting near the back of the lot, behind the newer, shinier vehicles. Across the windshield someone had painted "Classic" in bright yellow. Turning off the ignition, she got out of the truck and joined Jim. 

"Same plates as Sandburg's car," Jim pointed out. "743FSU." 

Megan ran a hand through her hair. "Sandy sold his car? I don't get it. Why would he do that?" 

Jim grimaced, then headed for the shabby trailer that served as the car lot's office. "I can think of a couple reasons, most of them having to do with getting enough cash to buy a ticket for someplace far, far away from here." 

"And I, unfortunately, can think of several with more sinister overtones than that." She grabbed Jim's arm. "What if he was attacked, the car stolen and sold here?" 

Shrugging off her hand, Ellison rapped on the door to the office. "We'll just ask the salesman and find out who sold him the car." When no one came to the door, Jim knocked harder. 

"Ellison, it's after midnight. There's no one here." She point to a sign in the window. "Look it says they're open on Sunday. We can come back then." 

"No! There's a light on in back, and I can hear someone inside." He pounded on the flimsy door, rattling the whole trailer. "Open up! Police!" 

"Jim!" Megan hissed. "You can't do that! We don't have jurisdiction!" 

"They don't know that," Jim shot back as the door was hesitantly opened by a prematurely balding man in his early thirties. 

"C-can I help you?" 

Jim flashed his badge, then returned it to his pocket before the salesman noticed it said "Cascade PD". "I'm Detective Ellison. I'd like to ask you a few questions about a car you have on the lot, or more specifically, about the person who sold it to you, Mr.--" 

"Todd, Max Todd. S-sure, officer, I got pink slips on all these cars. I got nothing to hide. Which one?" 

"The '62 Volvo in the back," Megan piped up. 

The man ran a hand over his pink scalp. "It's been here a while, over a week at least. Let me check my records." Opening the door wider, he motioned them inside, turning on the overhead light. It cast a sickly green glow over the shabby office, illuminating a worn set of couch and chairs to one side of the trailer, and a dented metal desk overflowing with paper work on the other. The man went straight to a filing cabinet behind the desk and began pawing through folders. 

While they waited, Megan dug through her purse, sure she had a package of pictures in there from the last time she'd been to the drug store. "Ah ha," she exclaimed as she found it at the bottom beneath her gun. Opening the envelope, she flipped through the photos until she found the one she wanted, taken at the PD Christmas party a little over three months ago. It was of her and Sandy, underneath the mistletoe some joker had hung in the MC bullpen doorway, the aftermath of a sloppy kiss. She was blushing, her Santa hat askew, Sandy's mouth and part of his cheek were stained with her lipstick. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she handed the picture to Jim. 

Ellison glanced at the photo, doing a double take, but holding on to it until the salesman turned back to him, a car title in his hand. 

"Here it is. Bought the Volvo a week ago last Monday, from a Blair Sandburg, for $1500." 

Jim handed him the photo. "Is that the man you bought it from?" 

The car dealer took it from him, examining it carefully. "Yeah, it looks like him. I recognize the hair. Don't see too many men with long hair like that." He sighed. "I used to have hair like that--back in high school." 

Taking the photo back from him, Megan asked, "Was he with anyone when he sold it? I mean, how did he leave here? Someone pick him up, cab, bus? Anything you can tell us would be very helpful." 

"Say, what's this guy done? He some kind of criminal? Should I be worried the car's stolen property?" 

Megan shook her head. "No, no, the car's fine. Sandy--Mr. Sandburg is missing. We're trying to find him." 

The salesman put the title away, then scratched his ear. "Hmm. It was about four o'clock when he came in, we were all done by about five. I walked out with him, on my way to dinner. Seems to me he headed down the street to the truck stop. Coulda had someone waiting on him there. Haven't seen him around here before or since." 

Jim nodded. "Thank you for your time and cooperation, Mr. Todd. You've been a big help." With that, he left the trailer, Megan hot on his heels. 

"Now what, Jimbo?" she asked as they climbed back into the Ford. 

"To the truck stop. Blair did some trucking when he was younger. Maybe he hooked up with one of the drivers." 

Putting the pickup in gear, Megan made a U-turn and headed toward the truck plaza. 

* * *

As Megan pulled away from the curb, Jim restrained himself from punching the dashboard. Blair had left St. Sebastian's almost two weeks ago. The trail was ice cold. It had been sheer luck he'd spotted the Volvo, though finding it only made things more difficult. Now they didn't know what kind of transportation Sandburg was using, or where he'd gone. He could be halfway around the world by now. Fifteen hundred dollars wasn't much, but it could get him some place where no one had ever heard of Blair Sandburg, or sentinels. In fact... 

"Borneo!" 

"What?" 

"Maybe Blair went to Borneo." 

"Why in the world would Sandy go there? He wants to get that far away from the US, he could go to Sydney. They at least have good beer in Sydney." 

Jim shook his head, warming to the subject. "No, you don't understand. Blair was asked to go on an expedition a couple years ago by one of his old professors, I forget his name. But it was a long term study. They might still be there." 

Megan tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for the traffic light to change. "I think that's unlikely, Jim. No anthropologist with a lick of sense is going to compromise two years work by letting a confessed fraud anywhere near it. And Sandy knows that." 

All the air went out of Jim. "No, I guess you're right." 

Megan turned left into the Gas, Food and Go truck stop. After circling the building, she chose a parking spot close to the restaurant. Jim started to open his door, but her hand on his arm stopped him. "What?" 

"Why are you doing this, Ellison?" 

He scowled at her. "Doing what, Connor?" The atmosphere inside the truck was suddenly frosty. 

"Chasing after Sandy. It's obvious you're still angry with him. Did you ever consider that might be why he left in the first place, because he didn't know how to deal with your anger? Or your disappointment?" 

"You don't have to be a part of this. You stay here, I'll go in and ask around and you can wash your hands of the whole thing," he snarled. First Sandburg, and now her. Opening the door, Ellison got out of the truck. 

Megan did the same, slamming her door hard enough to make Jim wince. "That's not an answer and you know it! You need to think long and hard about this, Jim, because if you come at Sandy without figuring out what in the hell you want from him, he isn't going to come back." 

Ignoring her, Jim started toward the restaurant. Connor grabbed at his arm again, and he whirled on her, his fist raised. At the look in her eyes, he froze, staring her down. 

She didn't flinch. "What are you going to do, Jim? Hit me? Hit Blair when you find him? Is that going to make you feel better?" Catching hold of his fist, she yanked it down painfully. "It wasn't his fault! It wasn't anyone's fault!" 

Breaking away from her, he opened the door to the building, hearing her voice follow him inside. "You have to let go of it or it's going to destroy both of you!" 

* * *

Jim consciously lowered his hearing, and Megan's rant faded. Out of her mind, that's what she was. Jim wasn't mad at Blair, he was angry because he'd up and left without a word, when he'd promised, _promised_ he'd keep in touch. He could be angry about that, couldn't he? A broken promise? Shaking his head, he tried to get his mind back on what he was doing there. 

One look at the number of people inside the sprawling truck stop convinced Jim that one on one interviews would take forever and probably not get him the information he was after. Security tapes were a better, and quicker, bet. Walking over to one of the cashiers, he asked to speak with the manager. 

Fifteen minutes later, after a wave of his police ID and the sob story of a missing person, he was seated in a small room with a bank of video screens all showing different areas of the business, from the gas pumps and parking lots to the restaurant's kitchen. The night manager, a fortyish woman her name tag identified as "Betsy", searched a bookcase of video cassettes, returning with an armful of tapes. "Here's the day and approximate times you wanted, Detective. I hope you find the person you're looking for." 

"So do I," he replied, and was somewhat startled to find his anger of earlier fading, replaced by the simple need just to _know_ where Blair had gone. "Thanks for helping me out." 

"No problem," she answered, pausing in the doorway. "We get cops in here all the time looking at tapes, mostly drive offs, or sometimes theft. Just use that TV and VCR to review the tapes and let me know when you're done. If you need a copy of anything, I'll make one for you. She left and Jim was alone. 

Sticking in the first tape, Jim began to fast forward through it. After thirty minutes of searching, he caught his first glimpse of Sandburg, on one of the restaurant cameras. He was seated in a booth, a cup of coffee in front of him. The time stamp said 7:53 PM. Jim took the tape off fast forward, letting it run in real time. Within a few minutes, he discovered it was nearly as boring as watching paint dry. Blair was just sitting there, dressed in a checked flannel shirt over some kind of dark colored T or henley, Jim couldn't tell which, sipping his drink every few minutes and...what was that? 

Jim paused the tape, straining to see. There was something wrapped around Blair's hand, some kind of ribbon or bracelet, and he was playing with it, winding it around his fingers then releasing it. 

Weird. Jim had never known his friend to have any nervous habits, save perhaps for inappropriate bouncing, and yet there he was, unconsciously fingering this...this strap, for lack of a better word. Jim focused on the paused image with his vision, but looking more closely at it only made the individual pixels visible. He'd need one of the PD's high-tech computer imaging stations to make the picture clearer. 

With a sigh, he began fast forwarding, watching as Blair drank three more cups of coffee and chatted with the waitress. Finally, he laid a bill down and left, picking up his duffel bag from underneath the table. Jim let the tape go a few more minutes, then switched to the one from the camera outside the restaurant. Blair paused in the entrance, looking left and right, then going left, in the direction of the trucker's lounge. 

Another exchange of tapes, and Jim discovered Blair in the lounge going from one trucker to the next, obviously asking them for a ride. Finally one man seemed to agree, and after the trucker finished his cigarette, they left together. 

"Damn it!" Jim swore aloud, sweeping the stack of tapes off the table with a clatter. He couldn't see the trucker's face, the brim of his cap shielded it from the camera. "God damn you, Sandburg! You know how dangerous hitchhiking is! Why the hell did you sell your car? Why the hell did you leave?" Jumping to his feet, Jim paced the small room, his frustration not eased by his outburst. Needing to do something, anything, to vent, he kicked the chair, tipping it over. The crash reverberated in the small room, and Jim covered his ears as his hearing spiked painfully. 

Betsy appeared in the doorway. "Are you okay, Detective Ellison? I heard a loud noise...oh!" she exclaimed, catching sight of the overturned chair and the jumble of tapes on the floor. 

Jim flushed in embarrassment. "Sorry, tried to catch the stack of tapes from falling and knocked over the chair," he lied, stooping to pick them up. 

She bent to help him, asking, "Have you found anything yet?" 

Jim nodded, then pointed to the screen. "The guy with the long hair is my missing person. Looks like he left with that trucker, but there's no good shot of his face to identify him with." 

"Hmm..." The manager sorted through the cassettes on the floor, selected one and stuck it in the VCR after ejecting the other tape. "Try that one. It's of the lot right outside the trucker's entrance." 

Thanking her, Jim went back to video watching. Sure enough, there was Sandburg, and his new friend, walking across the lot and climbing into a big rig. The name emblazoned on the door was JB Hunt. 

* * *

Megan looked up from her hot fudge sundae to see Jim Ellison striding through the truck stop restaurant toward her, a _smile_ on his face. There was only one thing she could think of that would have him smiling, and she wasn't even sure of that. As he slid into the seat across from her, she asked, "Find anything?" 

The smile turned into a mega-watt grin. He slapped a video cassette down on the table. "Surveillance cam footage. Sandburg was here that day, all right. He left with a trucker who works for JB Hunt. I can call their dispatch office and get a name. Then we can find out where he dropped Sandburg off." Picking up a spoon from the place setting at his elbow, Jim helped himself to Megan's ice cream. 

"Hey!" she complained, pulling the dish toward her. "That's my reward for putting up with you all day." 

Jim's expression turned somber. Swallowing, he said, "Look, Connor, I never meant to drag you into all this. I thought today would just be a nice drive in the country to surprise Blair. It never occurred to me that he wouldn't be there." 

Turning away from her, he gazed out the window as he said softly, "Maybe that's why I've been on edge ever since we arrived at St. Sebastian's. I've gotten so used to him being here that I never thought about what it would be like if he was gone." 

Megan was about to reply when the waitress appeared at their table. "Can I get you anything?" she asked Jim. 

"Just coffee, and--" he turned to Megan, "You still have that photo of Blair?" When she handed it over, Jim showed it to the waitress. "Do you remember him by any chance? He's a friend of ours, and we're trying to find him. He would have been here between about 6 PM and 10 PM the Monday before last." 

The server took the photo, examining it closely. "Yeah, I remember him. Cute guy, kinda quiet. Just ordered coffee and sat here for a long time. I remember him because he left a huge tip. Bottomless cup of coffee's ninety-nine cents, and he left me a ten." 

"How did he seem to you?" Megan asked. "Did he say much to you?" 

Brow furrowing in thought, she tapped her pencil against her cheek. "Just quiet. I was trying to flirt with him, and he wasn't picking up on it. I just figured he was gay or something, but I guess not, judging by that picture." She pulled her shoulders back, pushing her generous cleavage in Jim's direction and giving him a smile. 

"I'm sure it was no reflection on your charms," Jim told her. 

"Oh! He seemed tired too. And he was playing with this bracelet thing. Had it in his hand the whole time." 

Megan pulled out a notebook. "Can you describe this bracelet for us?" 

The woman closed her eyes, rocking back and forth on her heels a little. "It was leather, brown I think." She opened her eyes. "One of those goth things, with a buckle. My sister's into that. It looked like the kind of thing she wears, only longer. That's all I remember--cute, and kinda sad." She noticed her manager was looking at her. "Look, let me get your coffee and if I remember anything else, I'll let you know." 

Ellison leaned back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. Megan returned to her ice cream. Finally, she broke the silence by saying, "I'm going to move back to my place tomorrow." 

Jim simply nodded, and went back to looking out the window. 

* * *

Monday morning, Megan arrived at the PD earlier than usual. She wanted to run the credit check on Sandy before Captain Banks arrived and complained about the use of department time and money spent on someone who wasn't even officially missing. He could yell at her all he wanted later--after she already had the results. 

Pouring herself a coffee as she waited, she wondered again if she was doing the right thing. If Sandy wanted to disappear, who was she to tell him he couldn't? She sympathized with the situation Sandy was in, and thought she could understand a small portion of what he was going through. After all, she'd been pretty much persona non grata on the New South Wales PD back in Australia, what with her obsession with Scott Bruenell, but never to the extent that Blair was now with his entire profession. She imagined she'd be pretty depressed if she was in his place. She knew, though, why he'd done what he'd done, declared his thesis, himself a fraud. 

Sandy had just seen two of his friends gunned down in front of him. She still remembered the shock, the fear on his face as he'd held her hand while pressing on her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He must have felt it was his fault that they'd been shot, that they nearly died. And he had to be wondering who would be next. If Zeller didn't get to Jim, the pressure of the media constantly being in his face would, and he would inevitably slip up, make a mistake that got him or someone else killed. She knew Blair well enough to realize he couldn't live with that on his shoulders. 

So she supposed he'd done the only thing he could think of under the circumstances, with no one to go to for help. After all, Jim had barely been speaking to him, and she and Simon had been either in surgery or in ICU. Sandy had held that press conference knowing it would take the spotlight off of Jim and place it squarely on him, allowing Jim to do his job and apprehend Zeller. It was unfortunate that in order to save the lives of innocents, Sandy had to destroy his own. 

Megan's email binged and she looked over the rim of her coffee cup at the screen. Credit report was here! She hit print and stood impatiently by the printer for the pages to feed out. Ripping them off, she scanned the document eagerly. Damn it! There was nothing there that could help them. Bloody hell, Sandy had a lot of debt. All student loans it looked like, over sixty thousand dollars worth. _God, Sandy..._

Jim chose that moment to enter the bullpen. Walking over to Megan's desk, he dropped a slip of paper on it. 

"What's this?" she asked. "By the way, the credit check on Sandy didn't turn up anything, save he's heavily in debt." 

"That's Sandburg's pin number for his bank, and his account number. Use it to pull up his account records through Cascade National's online banking system. The trucker didn't pan out. Talked to him yesterday, said he dropped Blair in Seattle, where he had access to planes, trains and busses. He's certainly left there by now." With that, he sat down at his desk and picked up a case file. 

_Okay...Jimbo's not in a talkative mood this morning._ Logging online, Megan went to the bank's website and input the numbers Jim had given her. She felt somewhat guilty about it, though. It wasn't a strictly legal way to get the information. 

Once again she gathered the pages from the printer. Not too much activity, a couple ATM withdrawals before the dissertation mess, a deposit of fifteen hundred dollars on the Wednesday following his leaving the monastery, obviously payment for the Volvo. The really interesting item was a deposit last Friday for three thousand, two hundred and forty three dollars and fifty-seven cents, in the form of a payroll direct deposit from Henson Enterprises. 

Rising, Megan took the information to Jim. "Sandy's got a job. One that pays very well, apparently." She pointed out the transaction on the statement. 

She watched his jaw clench, his cheek muscles working as he exhaled slowly. "So that's it, then," he finally said, turning back to his paperwork. 

_Son of a bitch. So that was how he was going to be about it._ "I'm going to keep working on this, Jim. See what I can find out." She couldn't believe she was saying the words, after all her promises that she would back off if Sandy didn't want to be found. She amended that to she'd back off when she found out he was okay. 

"Suit yourself. I've got work to do." 

Megan went back to her desk and sat down. Pulling up a search engine, she typed in "Henson Enterprises". It came back with several entries, but before she could search further, a new person entered the bullpen, attracting Connor's attention. 

It was Van Goswick, senior detective on Cascade PD's SVU squad. The tall, exotic-looking woman turned heads wherever she went, even today with her hair pulled back in ponytail at the nape of her neck and dressed in a severe black business suit. Under her arm was a thick folder, which could only mean one thing. An SVU case was being kicked upstairs to Major Crime. She crossed the bullpen to Captain Banks' office, knocked and entered. 

Connor went back to her search, and was able to rule out the Henson Enterprises that was a headhunting company for the food products industry before Captain Banks bellowed her name. 

"Connor! Ellison! My office, now!" 

Closing the window on her computer, Megan followed Jim toward the captain's office, promising herself she would continue to look for Sandy, on her own time if she had to. 

"You coming, Connor?" Jim called over his shoulder. 

"Yeah, mate, I'm coming." Crime waited for no one. 

* * *


End file.
